Lonely Laments
by An Author's Pen
Summary: Alone on his island . . . watching the darkening sky . . . doomed forever to solitude. Various poems on Darkrai taking both sympathetic and sinister views on this mysterious Pokemon.
1. open your eyes and fall asleep again

open your eyes and fall asleep again

Are you trembling?

Are you shaking?

Are you (trying) to be brave?

It's no use

not here

Not against me

Everyone fears something

Everyone

I just let it out

You try and face me

You say

"I'm not scared of you"

Oh, not of me

But you _are_ scared

You pretend

You try not to believe

I hear your mantra

"It's just a dream"

justadreamjustadream

Why would you fear the impossible?

Oh your fears can come true

so easily

Just tilt the dice a bit

and you have a nightmare

What if I told you waking

was a dream?

You sink into it

You let it consume you

reality blurs with make believe

?What was reality anyway?

You open your eyes with one last stand

"This isn't real!"

Your ignorance

Because this_ isn't_ a dream


	2. another day of darkness

another day of darkness

you writhe and turn

scared and _tormented_

by the agonies of your dreams

I see accusation in your eyes

that I'm the one responsible

the one who torments you so

the one who has brought this upon you

don't speak to me

of terror filled nights

don't speak to me

of endless eyes opened hours

don't speak to me

of a torture that never seems to end

you have **No Right **

to speak to me of nightmares

(you wake up but I never do)


	3. i don't make you scream

i don't make you scream

I am **fear**

My very presence embodies it

I don't have to make a ghostly voice, or tap the window pains

I don't need to try

I stir up your darkest memories, your **frightening** thoughts

all you what ifs and anxieties

they call me dark, or **evil**

I'm not-really

tell me, **is fear evil**?

True it weakens you and hurts you

but love can do the same

hope can do the same

I guess humans like to see things in black and white

if its hurts them, it is wrong,

it is **evil**

no

I'm not anything

except your fear

that you're afraid to face


	4. the gift my darkness brings

the gift my darkness brings

You dream

You feel the fear

it petrifies you, numbs you

terror, anxiety, distress

frantic, screaming, tossing, turning

This is why you hate me

for making you feel fear

But you're forgetting

Like all the others

what about that feeling

golden warmth shrouding you

waking, a comforting embrace

Without fear their can be no safety

I bring the feeling of relief


	5. on true devils

on true devils

call me cruel

but if you do,

then call her cruel

too

yes, call the angel

the one of blissful sleep

who makes you think

of sun lit meadows and dreams that do come true

to which you wake

gone. gone. gone.

reality back, illusion, hopes

_shattered_

yet you say thanks to her

for teasing you with what might be

you call that good?

you call that right?

If I show you the worst

then what?

you wake

and know your life is better

but you thank her for your broken hearts

and souls unsatisfied


	6. preconvicted

pre-convicted

is it a crime to live and be?

To draw breath, to feel

to be as you were born? 

They call it my home

I call it my prison

and over the years it has become mine

with the shunned, deserted feel 

What was my crime?

I must have had a crime to be so kept

so disdained, dare I say _hated_ by the world 

When I ask they say 'don't'

they say I am not an innocent

that I never have been

never will be 

guilty, guilty

of the crime that cannot be asked or answered

the shackles of the very being 

tell me the verdict, judge!

jury

tell me! 

They turn and they are silent

they send me back

and say 'dangerous' and

'as if he doesn't know' 

won't some one say

but they don't

they turn their heads

I am a criminal, they think 

is it a crime to live?

Is it a crime

to act as one was made to act

and be as one was made to be? 

and so I ask once more,

I beg, entreat, you to pause then answer

and tell me I wasn't

_born_ guilty?


	7. abandoned&isolated

**abandoned** &_ Isolated_

I cannot leave the island

why I do not know

it's like asking why water sometimes falls or

why the sky is always dark

why I only see black winged murkrows

that peck and stare with reverent terror

when I speak to them

(I don't know where I learned to speak

I don't know)

the brown of the earth is soft and wet

but there is none of the green I feel

should be there

budding, shooting

I remember light

only vaguely in a half formed memory of flash and flare

and warmth,

I think warmth is what makes them grow

then I wonder if

I need warmth?

When the sky-water does fall I watch it trickle and collect

into to a dark circle

like the new moon, I think

then wonder where I heard the name before

sometimes when I close my eyes I see strange things

pink petals and broad smiles and hot sand

and glaring lamps illuminating pages

in the night with gentle voices that give words

a shape

I wonder about the voices and the words and the tenderness that shapes them

On some days I think I see an outline in the sky

and a faint pinprick of shimmer that makes my heart soar and flutter

star, I think, and then

why can't I leave the island?


	8. the ghosting hours

the ghosting hours

To love the night

is to love the dark and not

to fear the shadows 

the creeping wind

if it speaks it moans

and whispers of

unspeakable horrors

that they say 

lurk in the night, hide in it

flee from the glaring rays

evil things, twisted things,

devious dark things that

haunt houses and tap window panes

and make hearts go 

Boom-boom, stutter

a quickening terror

covers clenched

palms sweaty

staring, staring 

out, beyond the confines

of four walls into

the seemingly endless blackness

that coats and envelopes the world 

then the gone moon light half

illuminates

as the clouds shift, a sliver

a sliver enough to see- 

(to love the night is to love the dark. to love the night is not to fear) 

-the specter in the garden.


	9. oh, uncaring moon

oh, uncaring moon

"Humans," she tells you, glowing like

the crescent moon "are silly beasts."

.

You fly with her, hover over

the quiet town. She watches

with a maternal smile.

"Cute though. A-_dorable_."

.

One small creature falls,

lets out a grating wail and

you cringe;

she frowns

her disapproval.

.

She leans over one, and whispers.

It sighs, smiles droopily,

glazed, seeing paradise and

not-real things.

.

"Don't do that," he snaps.

"You're young,

Darkrai. You don't

understand; I make them happy."

.

Happy, he puzzles;

follows her.

.

"Cresselia!" they shout-

moan - cry - pray

on crescent nights

"Grant us sweet dreams."

.

He hovers in the shadows

- watches-

They speak, these creatures

and love like people do.

.

"It looks pretty in the moonshine," she

whispers from their perch. "Senseless things."

"Her," he corrects.

.

"Why Darkrai, dear, what's this?

They don't think,

not really.

Frail creatures- I've seen many

pass the years. Shaded diversely and

some speak low, others high.

Amusing to watch their giddy ways

but they are

nothing.

Their unconscious minds wander foggy ways,

pathetic against the night-sky

endlessly centric in their meaningless ways.

I am their goddess, and

they _worship_ me."

.

Darkrai hides. On

his isolated isle he wonders about

the world, the little creatures-

beings, _persons._

_.  
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The moon light is false, he knows,

and so flees from it, will not touch it

hates it, longs

to blot it out.

.

His name is cursed,

now.

(She has taught them to fear the dark)

.

But better shadow, he thinks,

than false god.


End file.
